Red Bicycle
by Robin4
Summary: A story of possibilities, redemption, and yes, a little reunion, too. An accidental return to Gallifrey drives the Doctor to want to fix something for once instead of destroying, and finally opens the way for a little redemption. 10/Rose, AU, post S3.
1. Part One: Yardstick

_Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who (BBC does). I am making no profit from this story; I simply love to write._

_Notes: Tenth Doctor, in the new series. Spoilers up until the end of Series 3, along with some possibly minor ones for Torchwood through the end of Series 2 . Ten/Rose._

* * *

**Red Bicycle

* * *

******

_Part One: Yardstick_

Partly, he did it just to see what would happen. He threw the words away as if they were of no moment, tossed them in her face, watched her gape. _"Who says I'm not? Red bicycle when you were twelve!"_

Rose obliged him, staring in awe. _"No!"_

She did not understand, of course, but that was all right. The humans never did, and he loved them anyway. Loved them for all of their shortsightedness, for all of their wisdom, for the sheer fact that they were so _alive_. Rose was all of those—incurably humanly shortsighted, wise beyond her years, and vividly alive and real, all those things he'd never be again. He learns to live through her—and then she shocks him by coming closer to _understanding _than anyone else has, even those of his own kind.

He chooses to die for her, then. It's creation's oldest equation: a life for a life. It works out in the end, right up until he loses her, loses himself, and only then realizes that he'd come to life and learned to love. Time Lord that he is, he runs out of time, and it's all over…until it isn't.

Years pass before he can bring himself to deliver that bicycle, and it's so bittersweet. He stands in the doorway for a long while, just watching a twelve-year-old Rose Tyler sleep, thinking of the woman the child will become.

He feels _time _shift slightly as he places the red bicycle under the tree. _Adjust._ Everything is as it should be, as it will be. Time isn't linear, after all. The moment he told Rose that he'd been responsible for that shiny new bicycle, he was. She probably hadn't even received one in the memories she'd had before that offhand comment of his, but the moment it came out of his mouth, she remembered it being so.

Click. Shift. Adjust.

Never before has he so completely understood that he is the yardstick by which time measures itself. Say the words—and it is done. All that is required are his intentions, for he is the last.

He forgets that when he tells Rose that two universes would explode—forgets that if he had told her he would find a way, he _will_. Intentions would make the impossible possible.

So, when he intends to cross into Pete's World, intends to leave Rose Tyler a letter on her Torchwood desk, the impossible becomes possible. But, because he does not know when that possibility will come, he cannot speak his heart. Perhaps he's a coward. Perhaps he's not.

_Rose—I lied. Someday, there will be a way, and I will find it. We will see each other again._

Does she know of the power in words? He hopes so, because he signs it "Your Doctor." Only now does _he_ understand; when the TARDIS was Rose, Rose was the TARDIS. _My Doctor_. Both had tried to tell him, then, what neither had words to express.

He writes the letter in his mind, quietly parked on the rift in Cardiff, knowing that he will deliver it someday, hopefully after having found Rose once more. Knowing that he will use those exact words.

* * *

It is on her desk when Rose returns from Bad Wolf Bay, turning heartbreak into something both more and less painful. She wipes the tears away, and for the first time vows to go on, promising herself that she will live a fantastic life, for him. Because he's coming back, and she's never known the Doctor to break a promise. Not to her.

* * *

She'd carried that letter in her pocket for almost two years before stopping only because Rose had been afraid that such constant folding and unfolding would tear the paper apart. Then she'd started leaving it in her top desk drawer at work, where she could see it whenever she wanted—except when she was at home. That lasted until Christine found it and asked, necessitating all kinds of awkward explanations about the man she was _still _pining after, three years later.

Two years after that, she had taken to carrying inside her planner, tucked into a paper protector and folded just-so. She'd thought about laminating it, but really, who laminated notes from old friends, promising the impossible?

Impossible.

_You can't_, he'd said, back on that beach.

_I lied_, the letter said, just a short time later.

After five years, she wasn't sure which to believe. At first, Rose had expected him to pop out from around every corner, holding out his hand with the same wild grin on his face and promising to show her the universe. The letter—oh, what she wouldn't give to know how it got there!—had kept her from dropping into the bleakest depression she could imagine, but it hadn't kept her hopes from being crushed by the simple word "someday."

Except—she still believed him. She had the letter in her hand to prove that she should. It had gotten there somehow, and so would he.

Had she dated? Yes, trying to tell herself that the Doctor was her best mate, and he hadn't said the words, and if he came to get her things would be just the same as they'd always been. But it hadn't worked, and after a few years of trying, Rose had been glad of it.

She had two younger brothers, after all (Jason and Jack, the twins of terror). Who needed to get married, have kids, live a domestic life? The only fantastic life she'd ever wanted was one with him, and after a few years of trying to fight that, she simply didn't bother. It took more energy to pretend that she _wanted _something normal than it did to survive.

In the end, survival hadn't turned out so bad. At least her work at Torchwood was interesting, and her dad did practically own the place. Her life wasn't a bad one, and she did have a wonderful family. Things could have been much, much worse.

So she lived her life, day by day, making what difference she could. The Doctor had taught her that.

* * *

Words have power, as the Bad Wolf understands. _I am the Bad Wolf. I create myself._

There are more powers at work than just time.


	2. Part Two: Rebel

_

* * *

_**Red Bicycle**_

* * *

_

_Part Two: Rebel_

It was a chance meeting, at least so much as Jack knocking on the TARDIS doors when she was refueling over the rift in Cardiff could be considered chance.

"You could have used your key," the Doctor said as Jack came through the doors, his voice half muffled by the console he was under.

"I thought it'd be polite to knock, just in case you were entertaining some pretty lady or something," Jack grinned, making a show of looking around the console room. "I'm disappointed in you, Doctor! No pretty ladies—or pretty gentlemen, for that matter." He paused. "No companion?"

"Oh, I dropped the last one off a few days ago. Something about running from her life from fuzzy little bipeds that look remarkably like Teletubbies—minus the televisions, of course—simply didn't appeal to her." His face popped out from under the console, slightly smeared with grease and beaming. "I can't imagine why. After all, it's not as if we died. Or, more accurately, it's not as if we were eaten alive, which is what the Fruitens are prone to—oh, never mind. Hand me that wire, will you?"

Chuckling, Jack complied, settling down on the grating next to the Doctor as the other's upper body disappeared back under the console. Judging from the look of things, the repairs were nearly finished.

"So, what brought you out to Cardiff, Doctor? Couldn't live without me?"

The Time Lord snorted. "Hardly a problem of mine, thanks. No, the TARDIS needed a bit of a recharge—she requires them more often as she gets older—so here we came. Of course, there are a hundred other rifts in the universe we could use, but she likes Cardiff the best."

"And you don't?" Jack teased.

"Why would I like Cardiff? All you smelly, nosy humans—and Torchwood! How could I forget Torchwood, and why would Enemy Number One want to go anywhere near—Oi!" He cut off indignantly as Jack kicked him lightly in the side. "What was that for?"

"Oh, I'm sure your oversized Time Lord brain can come up with something," Jack retorted, grinning.

The only response that earned him was an amused roll of expressive brown eyes—they showed mirth, now (their default setting for as long as Jack had known him), but were equally capable of turning as cold as ice or compassionate enough to kill. _Not human_, the Doctor had reminded him more than once, and Jack hadn't loved him so much, the Time Lord would have scared him to death.

But he was glad the Doctor was back. Even though Jack was certain that he'd made the right choice in staying behind with his Torchwood team, he'd traveled with the Doctor several times over the past few years—eating up all of his government-issued vacation time, but what else was he going to do with paid vacation days? Either way, it had been almost a year since Jack had last heard from the Doctor, and he'd been worried. There were times when he thought the man owned a self-destructive streak miles wide, and he liked to look out for his friend.

"So, how old is the TARDIS, anyway?" Jack asked as the Doctor slid out from under the console, rising and brushing himself off.

"Oh, older than I am, certainly. I doubt that she remembers herself, these days—but at least thirteen, fourteen hundred. She was already was already quite experienced by the time I…ah, misappropriated her." Brown eyebrows wiggled, daring Jack to ask.

So ask he did, with no small amount of surprise. The Doctor _never _talked about his past (save that one moment he remembered all too well), and Jack would take every opportunity offered. "You _stole _the TARDIS?"

"Yup." He still popped his ps, too. "What self-respecting bunch of dusty, stuck-in-the-traditional-mud Time Lords was ever going to give _me _license to travel through time and space? I've only mellowed with age, you know."

"Perish the thought."

"So, where to, Jack?" the Doctor bounced for the console as the TARDIS came to life. "I'd say she's done refueling and ready to take to the stars—unless, of course, you simply popped in for a cuppa tea and a quick chat, of course?"

"Nope. I've got a bag packed and everything." Jack gestured to the duffle at his side. "_And _everyone knows I'm leaving—due for some time off and all—so no scares like the last time."

"Ah, where's the fun in that?" the Doctor retorted, his eyes gleaming. "No surprises, no missing person reports, no manhunts, no Unsolved Mysteries—oh, that's an American television show, isn't it?"

"I know what Unsolved Mysteries is," he replied dryly, barely managing not to laugh.

"Right then. So, where to, Timbuktu? Oh, that was a fabulous rhyme, if I do say so myself. Barcelona—there's dogs with no noses—or perhaps Belgium, the planet and not the city? Or there's always Elizabethan England, as I still haven't found out what I did to make Good Queen Bess so put out with me—and it must be _this _me, as she recognized the—"

"I need a battery," Jack cut him off.

"You need a what?"

"A battery."

"What?"

"Oh, take your mind out of the gutter, you filthy old Time Lord," Jack teased him wickedly. "Not _that _kind of battery. One for my gun."

"Of course! For your squarness gun! For the record, I was thinking about batteries for the many lovely gadgets you've got holed up in Torchwood's basement, rather than whatever nasty things you came up with."

The sad part was that he was probably telling the truth. Jack knew that he and Martha Jones were far from the only companions who'd tried throwing a line in that particular direction, but as far as he could tell, the Doctor had never done so much as nibble. He'd have thought that the Time Lord was as completely asexual as the Doctor claimed to be if Jack had never seen the absolutely _intoxicating _flirting between the Time Lord and Rose, or if he couldn't hear the pain in the Doctor's voice whenever her name was mentioned. _I've known love like that, _he thought to himself, careful to keep the sudden wash of emotions off his face. _Once.__ So, I guess I understand a little. _Not that Jack was the type to practice self-denial, much though he'd loved the woman he'd married so long ago, loved her so much that he'd stayed with her until the day she died. But—

_Another life.__ Another time._

"All you have to do is ask, Doc," he replied suggestively, ramping the charm up as far as it could go.

"Or not ask, which seems to be the safest route—which, just this once, I think I'll take, thank you very much. Villengard it is! I'm assuming you want to arrive before the last me turned the factory into a banana grove?"

"Preferably, yeah."

"Darn. I like bananas. Bananas are good—high in potassium!"

Jack could only laugh.

* * *

In their first arrival at Villengard, the TARDIS materialized in a banana grove. One look out the door and Jack burst out laughing.

"Ah, Doctor, I think your timing is a bit off." He gestured at the open doors and watched the Time Lord shrug.

"By a decade or two, yeah," he confirmed nonchalantly, bounding out the doors to snatch two bananas from the nearest tree. "Not too bad for the first try, actually. In the grand scheme of creation, you know, ten or twenty years are hardly a drop in the bucket." He offered Jack a banana.

"I am older than I look, Doctor." But Jack took the offered fruit, pulled the peel aside and took a speculative bite. _I hate it when he's right. These _are _probably the best bananas in the universe._

"Pah. You're a severely overgrown child. Nearly two hundred you are, and you still haven't learned to turn your hormones off." The Doctor grinned. "Jack Harkness: a giant adolescent ape, you are. Fortunately, for you, I rather like apes—and I do like bananas." He snagged another bunch before closing the doors. "Here."

Jack caught the bunch by reflex. "If I'm a giant ape, what's that make you?" he wanted to know. "Call yourself a Time Lord, and you can't even get us to the right decade."

"Actually, that's the TARDIS more than it is me. These days, anyway."

"Can't you fix it?"

The Doctor paused in his dash around the console just as the time rotor started moving. "Who says I want to?"

"I just thought it might be nice to drop in on trouble on purpose instead of by accident," Jack replied. "You know, actually plan where you're headed most of the time." Because _all _of the time would be far too much to ask, especially of this Doctor.

"Nah, that takes all the fun out of it! Where's the mystery in knowing the answers _and _the equation?" A final slap of a lever and they were in the Time Vortex. "Where's your sense of adventure? Never knowing what's coming, always peering around the corner to figure out what's next—that's the adventure."

He was right, of course. Half the fun of being with the Doctor was those discoveries—and the rest came from watching him make people better often without even trying.

"Besides," the Time Lord added after a moment. "That's one problem with the TARDIS I can't fix." The hand he laid on the console was gentle, affectionate…and sad. "The universe is not what it was, Jack. We both continue as best we can—fight the good fight, banish the demons, so on and so on. Wouldn't have it any other way."

The melancholy vanished with the last two sentences, and Jack once again found himself swept away by the infectious grin and the maniac enthusiasm. There were times he just wished he could get straight answers to his questions, could find out what really lay behind the brilliant smile—but that wouldn't be traveling with the Doctor. Not at all.

"So," he started to reply. "Are you—"

_Crash._

Before Jack knew what was happening, the TARDIS had lurched wildly, and he was skidding across the grating on his back and the bunch of bananas had flown from his hands to smash into one of the pylons with a _splat_. The Doctor had been knocked off his feet as well, but clung doggedly to the console as the TARDIS continued to buck and lurch. Somewhere in the background, Jack heard an ominous bell tolling.

"Oh, that's _never _good!" The Doctor hauled himself upright with an effort, his eyes flying over the screen faster than Jack could follow.

"What's going—" Almost back on his feet, another sudden _heave _sent Jack sprawling again. This time, he landed on top of the bananas and felt them turn to goo.

"No no no no no no no no no—"

"Forget the bananas, Doc!" Jack shouted, clinging to the pylon and trying to regain his footing. "What's happening?"

"Bananas?" the Time Lord turned away from the controls to throw Jack a blank look. "What—oh, right _the _bananas. Such a shame about them, really, now they're more banana pudding than anything else, but it can't be helped. No no no no no no no no—don't do that!"

The mallet bounced off the TARDIS' controls with no apparent affect.

"Oh, come on old gal, don't start this—to answer your question, Jack, I haven't the faintest idea what's happening. We're stuck in a Vortex Eddy—a ripple in time itself, you might say—and there's absolutely no predicting where we'll come out. If we come out. There's an approximately nine-point-two-seven-nine repeating percent chance that we'll get stuck in the eddy and ride it along until the end of time. Literally."

"Can't you do anything about that?"

"Nope! Not a thing."

Jack gaped.

"Except ride it out, of course." The Doctor dug into his coat pocket (managing to keep his balance one-handed, despite the TARDIS' constant shaking) and pulled out a suspiciously familiar piece of yellow fruit. "Banana?"

Somehow, Jack managed to catch the banana while still clinging to the pylon. _And _he managed not to fall over, which the former con man considered a monumental accomplishment. "What a minute. I didn't see you pocket this earlier."

"I didn't need to. It's been in there for awhile—Time Lord science. Pockets are bigger on the inside than on the outside. Don't worry; it ought to still be good."

"You carry _bananas _around in your pockets?" He knew that the Doctor was trying to distract him from the situation and was grateful for the effort; still, it was amazing that even after all this time, the Doctor could catch him by surprise.

"Oi! Not just any old bananas, Villengard bananas. Only the best, I say." The Doctor shrugged as the TARDIS continued to shake wildly, doing her damnedest to blend the two of them into the walls. To Jack, it felt as if the ship was trying to tear herself to pieces—not a pleasant thought. "I used to carry around a never-ending supply of Jelly Babies. This time it's bananas."

"You're crazy," was the best Jack could manage.

"Certifiable," the other confirmed happily.

Sudden stillness.

Without warning, everything went still. The shaking suddenly just _stopped_, replaced by the TARDIS' usual vibrating hum. Except there was something, a strange little _tick _of everything not quite being right. However, the Doctor seemed not to notice, or perhaps not to care.

"Ah, there we are. Out of the Time Vortex and—"

_Crunch._

"Well, that's never a good sound. Feels like something hit the TARDIS and sent us into a spin—I hope you like roller coasters, Jack! This is going to be­—"

Distantly, he realized that the bell had stopped ringing. Pity, because Jack had been concentrating on the sound to keep his stomach from emptying its contents all over the floor.

_Crash._

The floor jumped out from under Jack and the world seemed to convulse; suddenly, throwing up was the least of his concerns. Later, he'd vaguely remember bouncing off of several pylons, the floor, and perhaps even the ceiling, but everything happened to quickly for Jack's overworked brain to process. When he regained his equilibrium, he found himself sprawled with his back against the doors and the Doctor half on top of him.

"—a very rough landing," the Time Lord finished.

It took Jack a moment to get his bearings; by the time he did, the Doctor was already climbing towards the console hand over hand, grabbing everything within reach to pull himself up.

"Are we…?" Jack forced his aching body to roll sideways and pulled the left door open, staring out at rock. And dark-colored dirt. And more rock. No sky, no landscape, just a bumpy sheet of _ground_. "We're sideways. The TARDIS landed on top of her own _doors_?"

"Yup. Hate it when that happens. Do close the door, Jack, so I can fix the problem." Jack wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to maneuver himself above the console and brace his feet against it, but he seemed comfortable enough.

"Right. This happen a lot these days, Doc?" But Jack was smart enough to grab a hold of the railing after he'd closed the door; he really didn't fancy flying again.

"Not in a few centuries, no," was the response as the time rotor began pumping again. "But given what I know about Vortex Eddies—which is probably more than anyone else in the universe—I'd say we were rather lucky to get out when and where we did. Nasty things, Vortex Eddies. Destroyed a few TARDISes over the years, even."

"When and where are we, anyway?"

"No idea. We may be at Villengard, we might be at the end of the universe." The Doctor jumped down off the console as the TARDIS rematerialized and Jack relinquished his grip on the railing, glad to have gravity back where it belonged. "But we're here, so let's find out, shall we? Allons-y!"

"I'm voting for it _not _to be the end of the universe," Jack replied, pulling the doors open again. "We've already—oh. Definitely not Villengard, Doctor."

Anything but a weapons factory, this. He was staring out at a deserted and desolate landscape, all blood red rocks and dirt, windy and cold. The sky seemed to be as much night as day, with strange patches of transparent blue and red standing out amongst the black. Thousands of distant stars were visible—arranged by galaxy, it seemed, the way Jack had only seen through high-powered telescopes or in pictures, all looking millions and millions of miles away and close enough to touch at the very same moment.

The horizon seemed very close, as if he was standing on a moon or an asteroid, rather than a proper planet. Half without meaning to, Jack stepped through the doors and into the night, only remembering to take an experimental breath after it was already too late. Death by asphyxiation wasn't one he enjoyed, but—no, he could breathe. The air was freezing cold, enough to make his lungs hurt right away, but it was breathable.

"Well, it looks like this chunk of rock has atmosphere, though it's quite colder than I'd expect with two suns as close as those two are…"

He twisted to look over his left shoulder when there was no response, and Jack's breath caught in his throat.

Hanging just beyond the horizon against the night sky, were the broken remnants of a planet. It had to be a planet—the pieces were too large for anything else—but the rocks were scattered and shattered, torn and turned to dust. Where the outer crust had once been, Jack could see only black ash and destruction, features burned beyond recognition. Here and there, a few lone fires still flickered, small and bright against the darkness.

There was a sudden sound behind him, something strangely like a gasp, before the Doctor fled back into his TARIDS.

* * *

"Doctor?"

Jack had been sorely tempted to rush into the TARDIS on the Doctor's heels, but was now glad he had not. The Time Lord had stopped just short of the console with his back to the doors, hand stuffed deep into his pockets and eyes shut.

There was no response.

"Doctor?" he repeated, taking a hesitant step forward.

The whisper came from beyond the grave. "It's Gallifrey, Jack."

A long moment passed before Jack could find words.

"I thought you said Gallifrey was destroyed…?"

The already drawn face pinched up tight with pain. "If that's not what you'd call destroyed, I'd hate to see what your imagination conjures up." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Gallifrey burned—burned and broke and ended everything. Erased everything as if it never was. Everyone. Everyone except me."

There was more than survivor's guilt in those words, but this was not the time to ask. Instead, Jack spoke as gently as he could:

"But if Gallifrey was erased, how are we here?"

"I have no idea." The Doctor finally turned to face him, and Jack was not surprised to see the tears in his eyes. "The Time Vortex…used to begin and end here, at the center of all the universes. But it doesn't. Not any more. I can't travel here. No one can."

"Have you tried?"

"No."

Jack took a deep breath. "Then how do you—"

"I saw it burn. I saw everyone burn. That was enough," the Doctor cut him off, and Jack watched helplessly as the Time Lord scaled his emotions back into cold impartiality, into carefully maintained distance from his grief.

He burned to ask how the Doctor had survived but did not dare.

After a long moment, Jack ventured, "Then are we on…a piece of Gallifrey?"

"That would be even more impossible than this is." Emotion tried to work its way across the Doctor's face and failed. "We're at the Cruciform. Well, the base of the Cruciform, at any rate…" He swallowed hard. "Call it a small moon, if you will. We had those."

"How?"

"I have no idea," the Doctor breathed, and Jack realized that he'd finally been faced with a mystery he didn't want to solve.

"We can just leave, you know," he reminded his friend gently, and he could see that the Time Lord desperately wanted to. Instead, however, the Doctor reached out to lay a gentle hand on the nearest pylon.

"Can't." The word seemed to hurt coming out. "She'd like to… She'd like to stay for a bit. Can't say I blame her. This is, after all, the closest to home either of us is going to get. Last of our kind, we both are. Last TARDIS and last Time Lord."

He almost asked how the Doctor knew, and then stopped himself. Sometimes Jack forgot that the Doctor and his ship were both telepathic.

"What would you like to do, then?" he asked after another uncomfortable silence.

"Die." The Doctor smiled tightly when Jack's head snapped up. "Oh, not literally, Jack. It's just—oh, never mind. It's not worth the heartache. Let's go look around."

And there it was. Him trying to be normal and failing utterly. But who was Jack to tell the Doctor that this was the wrong way? Who was he to even guess that there might be a _right _way? He understood that the Doctor needed to distract himself from the pain, so Jack fell into step with him as the Doctor strode by, having to hurry to keep up with the long, purposeful strides.

"You don't have to always be all right, you know," he said softly when there was nothing more optimistic to say.

"Yes I do." For a moment, the Doctor met Jack's eyes, and the pain in the other's gaze roared up, bright and terrible and strong. "Especially here."

Then they were out the doors, turning left—Jack noticed that the Doctor's eyes never once swept over his home's broken remains—and moving into the building that the Time Lord seemed to know would be there.

The small stone structure was surprisingly intact, and—even more surprisingly, not much larger on the inside than on the outside. Part of the roof was gone, but all four walls were intact, and as far as Jack could tell, they had entered through the only doorway, wide open as it was. One wall hosted a bank of controls, resembling extra-long keyboards more than anything else, all labeled in a language Jack only recognized as Gallifreyan from symbols the TARDIS had always refused to translate. To the right and left of the console were at least a dozen objects that resembled miniature time rotors, dark, still, and silent.

"This was the base of the Cruciform," the Doctor explained softly, probably just needing to talk, to say something, rather than lose himself in memories. He was looking at the blank screens on the wall over the console bank, seeming to study them closely. "Gallifrey's most secure line of defense."

He shoved his hands into his pockets and dropped his head to stare at the controls, but Jack saw it when his mind went elsewhere, his eyes seeing things a former Time Agent could only guess at. Jack stepped up next to the Doctor and was sure that the other did not notice.

"Thousands died here when the Dalek Emperor took control of the Cruciform, cracked it." Brown eyes closed, as the Doctor bit his lip before continuing: "You might say that this was the last important battle of the Time War. Everything after this, even Arcadia, was simply an act of desperation."

"Were you here?" Jack had to ask.

"On the moon? No. But I was…close enough." The Doctor swallowed back pain and Jack resolved to ask no more—until the other kept talking. "I was…more a general than a foot solider, Jack. Insofar as we had generals, anyway."

He couldn't help giving the Doctor a very strange look; he'd never be able to imagine—

"Not a very Doctor-like thing to do, you're thinking, commanding armies across the stars. But consider this: for a Time Lord, I've always been a…rebel. An innovator. I think well, not outside the box so much as in a different galaxy from the 'normal' box. We needed that.

"Even when it failed."

Jack wondered if the Doctor knew there were tears on his face again.

"The battle here lasted twelve days, Gallifreyan time." The whisper might as well have been a scream against the empty silence. "Eight days before the Daleks took this building, one as the Emperor cracked the…Cruciform, and three of fighting afterwards. We never did manage to take the Cruciform back after we retreated."

"What did it do?" Jack new quite a bit about space-time history, and he'd never even heard whispers of anything like this. Not even legends.

The Doctor took a deep breath and looked up; Jack distinctly got the impression that he'd just noticed his own tears and had decided not to care. "The Cruciform was…_is _a universal control code. Equation. Breaking it brought Gallifrey out of the center and into one universe. This universe."

"You're telling me that Gallifrey was literally the center of the universe."

"The center of all universes, actually." The sad laugh somehow managed to contrast with the tears on his face. "A bit pretentious-sounding, but true. Gallifrey was the crossroads at the center of every universe. The blue-red light you see outside is the Time Vortex. Time Vortexes, actually. One for every universe.

That took a moment to digest. "Then why this universe? Why get dragged here?"

The Doctor shrugged. "This is the oldest of them all, as far as we could tell. Not by much, but as time isn't linear, there's no reason to bother counting. But the Daleks were here, and Gallifrey's location made us untouchable. So they took the Cruciform and dragged us out."


	3. Part Three: Center

**

* * *

**

Red Bicycle

* * *

_Part Three: Center_

Long though he'd known him, the Doctor's sudden mood swings could still frighten the hell out of Jack. One moment, he'd been standing quietly, brokenly, staring at blank screens and dormant keyboards; the next he was leaping forward, his hands flying across the keys and seeming to bring the room to life just with his sudden flurry of motion.

Jack stumbled back as the Time Lord impatiently shoved into the spot he'd been standing in. "Doctor—?"

"I'm going to do it, Jack. I don't care if it doesn't matter—and it doesn't. I don't care if it won't do a thing—because it won't. But I'm going to resurrect the equation, restring the code, because I'm the only one who can and I have to believe that I'm here for a reason."

The ex-Time Agent could hear the words the Doctor didn't say: _Because if I'm _not _here for a reason, it hurts too much._ He needed to do something, anything, even if it didn't much matter.

Who was it that said that perhaps a man only looks for trouble when he has nothing left? Sometimes, Jack wondered if that was right. Moments like this, he knew it was.

"How…?" Jack prompted after several long moments of dizzily watching the Doctor's hands fly over the keyboards, seemingly each possessed by a different (genius) monster. Hadn't the Doctor just said that it took the Daleks an entire day to crack the Cruciform? And weren't the Daleks genetically engineered to do higher level…math without a single problem?

"How? Hardly matters. Oh, if you know the technology it's easy enough. Well, not easy so much as possible—DNA will tell, Jack. It's hardwired into our genes, the ability to break and-or resurrect the universal code. Time Lords aren't geniuses by accident, you know; a great deal of work went into that process over the millennia. Oh, we were quite bright to start with, but centuries of genetic manipulation has made it possible to—oh, would you look at that!"

Each screen had flared to life, coated in numbers, letters, _language _that Jack could not read. Lights were beginning to shine on the console, under the keyboard controls, and even those miniature time rotors (assuming that's what they were) were beginning to glow blue.

"Beautiful! Excellent! A bit short on power, but that's what I've got a TARDIS for—don't just stand there and stare, Jack, give me a hand."

The words weren't halfway out of his mouth before the Doctor had bolted for the TARDIS, and for the second time Jack found himself stringing large black power cables out of the time ship and into various receptacles. Here, however, the connections lined up perfectly, almost as if the consoles were made to be plugged into a TARDIS—Jack almost asked about that until it occurred to him that these were probably standard Gallifreyan power connections, much like a regular power outlet on Earth.

He just hoped that this experiment would turn out to be better than the last one, when the Doctor had tried to help Professor Yana and had then wound up uncovering someone older and darker than any of them had ever imagined. Thankfully, there were no eccentric and kind (but brilliant) professors here, so Jack figured they were probably safe. _Unless this entire…moon decides to steal the TARDIS, and I don't think we could prevent that, anyway. _Somehow, he managed to grin to himself as they worked.

Within a very few minutes (Jack was panting by the time they were done, but the Doctor seemed barely winded, just full of maniac energy), everything was hooked up and the dimly-lit consoles and screens filled the entire room with light. Even the floor suddenly seemed to glow—_hang it, it's not seeming to glow. The floor _is _glowing. _

"This is beautiful," Jack breathed, and it was. The simple stone structure seemed to take on more shape than it had, all smooth lines and simple beauty, with one console or screen simply flowing into the next, all part of a greater whole. None of the components were beautiful on their own, but together…

"Beauty for the sake of beauty. It was a concept that should seem contradictory for Time Lords—dusty and aristocratic and stuck on tradition—but wasn't. Isn't. Never been one much for it myself, but I've always been a rebel." His eyes weren't seeing the monitors in front of him, either, Jack realized. Was he imputing information solely based on memory?

The walls were beginning to tint a slight shade of silver, the floor slightly red. And the ceiling was slowly, definitely, becoming orange.

"Telepathic, this room. Slightly like the TARDIS, though it shows you what it feels you _ought _to see, not what it wants to show you or you want to see. A dangerous thing, that, designed as a defense measure to drive intruders mad. Didn't work on the Daleks."

"Then why am I seeing silver walls, a red floor, and the ceiling in orange?" Jack asked.

"You aren't. I am. The room's latched onto the more powerful telepathic signature—that would be me—and is reacting to it. I'm Gallifreyan by DNA, Time Lord by training. That's why you see what I see." His voice was distant, distracted, concentrating on anything but the visuals…and remembering what little the Doctor had said, so long ago, about his home, Jack could understand why.

And then a worrisome thought occurred to him. "Is it trying to drive you mad?"

"No." The Doctor snorted. "But it might be working."

Jack must have resembled a little lost puppy, because the Doctor glanced his way and took pity on him.

"It's the Cruciform at work, Jack. It's trying to make me comfortable…trying to feel like home." His voice was trying to crack, and Jack could see him overriding emotion with an effort. "Like a home even the Cruciform knows no longer exists, not in the way that matters, anyway. Even if I do succeed—and this equation tends to make the Skasis Paradigm look simple—but you don't know what that is so it's rather a useless comparison, isn't it?—restoring the Cruciform won't change anything for Gallifrey. And it won't change anything noticeable for the universe, for any of the universes. It won't really matter. Not in any way that counts."

"Except it matters to you."

"Right in one! It matters to me. It oughtn't, but I've never been the most logical being in the universe—well, I can't really say that, as I am _extremely _logical, and even very smart by Time Lord standards; perhaps it's better to say that I lay no claim to doing everything for sane and logical reasons—I just want to do it. To do something _right_ for once, restore something instead of destroying it."

_Is that really what he thinks of himself? _It took Jack a long moment to find words in response to that.

"You do a lot of right things, Doc," he whispered, and the Doctor laughed.

"The Daleks called me the Destroyer of Worlds." His voice had gone cold. "They were right, even if they did pin the name on me before I destroyed the ones that really mattered. A lifetime—thirteen lifetimes—of doing good can't erase what I did, even though it was for the right reasons. The Bringer of Darkness, the Oncoming Storm: that's _me, _your friendly neighborhood Doctor, destroying more than I ever restore.

"But not this time, Jack. This time I'm going to _fix _something."

--

Hours passed in silence as the Doctor worked—Jack's watch (otherwise known as the broken vortex manipulator he never wanted to replace) ran strangely there, as if it was trying to come to grips with a different _type _of time, but he knew that at least one-hundred and twenty-nine minutes had gone by in silence. The Doctor would stand quietly for several minutes and then bounce back and forth between consoles with frantic energy; sometimes he muttered to himself in Gallifreyan (which the TARDIS still did not translate) and others he swore in languages Jack _did _understand. He had counted six, so far, and hadn't known the Doctor knew so many swearwords. Or ever used them.

He was close to bursting with impatience and running out of ways to amuse himself. Having already paced around the small room sixty-seven times (sixty-six just hadn't seemed like a good number to stop at), Jack was afraid to leave the Doctor alone, even if he only planned on going as far away as the TARDIS. He was no stranger to the Doctor's mood swings, but this place was different. He could see that it hurt the Doctor to be here, and even if he wasn't going to anything useful, Jack refused to make the Doctor face this alone.

"Ah ha!"

The shout made Jack jump, and he almost fell flat on his rear in surprise. "Huh?"

"That should do it—give the equation a few moments to spread through the system—and here we go!"

The Doctor swung to face Jack, his face suddenly _alive _and happy, glowing in a way Jack hadn't seen ever before. For a short moment, he seemed at peace with himself…but then the moment faded with a shrug.

"Well, here everything else goes, anyway. It's not like we're moving a planet, after all, and not like all the little bits and pieces are going to reassemble themselves—because they can't and they won't, not with the Untempered Schism gone." He winced. "But…still, it's something, adjusting the stars themselves and realigning all of the universes."

"Adjusting the…_what?_" Jack stared. "What did you just say?"

"Realigning the universes," the Doctor repeated a bit impatiently, wearing that _you just drooled on yourself_ look on his face, the one Jack didn't get to see so often. "Pulling—" his voice broke "—Gallifrey back into the center and realigning the rest of the universes to the positions they _ought _to be in. Ought to hold everything still, too; or at least in the orbits they were supposed to have. Might make the TARDIS have an easier time finding her way around, also, as she has a bit of a problem navigating when things keep moving about."

"You're telling me that what you just did…is moving universes?"

"Yup. No one will notice but us, of course. Care to take a look outside?"

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the time rotor-like objects started to move, sounding eerily like the TARDIS but somehow…deeper. Larger, despite their small size. Jack could feel the entire room vibrating, thrumming, _changing__._

Click. Shift. Adjust.

Blinking, he followed the Doctor outside, and was amazed to watch the stars themselves moving.

They'd turned left after slipping past the TARDIS, looking out at Gallifrey's remains. Jack felt the tremor run through the Doctor more than saw it; the Time Lord didn't seem to be cold, but he was shivering. _But the stars were moving._

Galaxies were shifting. Even the strange blue-red colors that the Doctor had said were Time Vortexes were moving, sliding, adjusting. The progression seemed slow and unbelievably fast at the same time; stars in the heavens were shifting back into what seemed, even to Jack, to be old and familiar patterns.

"This is what I remember." The whisper came from his side, muffled. The Doctor was weeping silently. "This is what I looked up upon...at home. Growing up. Before I left and saw everything from a new angle."

"A better one?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Just different. Just…different."

--

This time, Jack didn't bother timing how long they stood there. At some point, the Doctor stopped crying. At some point, Jack contemplated hugging his friend and then decided that this wasn't the moment. Jack was a hugger, and this Doctor was a hugger, but they'd never had that kind of relationship, not really, and he somehow guessed that the Doctor wasn't looking for comfort or absolution. He'd gone beyond that.

Finally, the universes ceased to move and everything went still.

"Now what?" Jack finally asked, seeing a small hint of triumph in the Doctor's eyes, as if something had healed and he did not know what.

"Now I take you home, back to Torchwood. See what's changed, explore the universe. Same old, same old." And the Doctor's voice was very nearly back to normal, even with his eyes resting on his shattered home. He was sad, yes, but not crippled by it.

"Can you find the right universe from here?" Jack challenged with a grin. "Lot of Vortexes to choose from."

"Of course I can! What d'you think I am, a rookie TARDIS—" the Doctor cut off in mid-sentence, his eyes bugging wide. "Captain Jack Harkness, you're brilliant! An absolute genius! Always asking the right question at the right moment—except when you're propositioning me or flirting, of course—and you're completely and utterly right!"

"I am? About what?" It wasn't often that he got lost following one of the Doctor's rants, but Jack was completely confused.

"The universes!" the Doctor all but ran for the TARDIS, explaining along the way. "This is the crossroads, Jack, the doorway to every universe—with Gallifrey back at the center, the doorways may be open—well, not all of them, but several, anyway, and that just might mean…"

He skidded to a stop in front of the center console, tapping away wildly at the keyboard.

"Rose," Jack finished in a breath. "That might mean you can find Rose."

The wildly happy look was back. "Right in one, Captain Jack! Now, the only problem is that there are infinitely many possible universes, and all the doorways are here. Unless you've often been to the one you're looking for, finding the right one is like reaching into a box of chocolates—oh, hang on, that's _Forest__ Gump. _So sorry." His grin was infectious. "Anyway, you never do know what you're going to get, or where you're going to wind up, and although I'd happily sift through every known universe to find Rose, that would probably take up the entirety of even _my _lifetime. And then some."

"So how are you going to find her?" Jack was trying to breathe and grin at the same time, and doing both was far harder than the Doctor made it look.

"I have no idea," the Time Lord replied cheerfully. "But there's a chance, and that's far more than I've dared even _think _of over the past decade or two—"

"Decade or two?" It had been five years for Jack. "How long has it been for you, Doctor?"

"Twenty-two years. Blink of an eye, Jack, blink of an eye."

Except for the pain that washed over the Doctor's face when he said the words, Jack might have believed him. _One very long, painful blink, that._

The thought brought memories with it, and Jack was somewhat disturbed to realize that he could no longer picture Rose's face with as much detail as he once could. He'd loved her, too, of course—not in the same way the Doctor had (not that the Time Lord had ever admitted it, even to Jack, and even in the years since he'd lost her), but he'd meant it when he'd told Rose she was worth dying for. There'd been something vivid, something wise, something entirely _beautiful_ about her that meant one simply couldn't not love her.

"Oooh. Hang on—what's that?" The Doctor's pensive voice interrupted his train of thought, interrupted Jack's quick prayer (to whatever deity might listen) that the universe be kind enough to reunite Rose and her Doctor once and for all. _He deserves a break. Just one. Just for once. _

"What's what?"

"An energy signature. In universe two-six-seven-five-oh-one." He scowled at the screen.

"Universes have numbers?" Jack asked when he didn't continue.

"'Course they do," the Doctor replied impatiently. "Have to tell them apart somehow. Yours is universe-zero-zero-zero-zero-two."

"What happened to number one?"

"Imploded. Centuries ago. Bit of a mess, really. But that _energy signature_—oh, what an energy signature it is! Rather like a TARDIS but not, full of Vortex energy and—"

He cut off, his face suddenly pale.

"Bad Wolf," the Doctor breathed. "Bad Wolf. Dårlig ulv stranden. Bad Wolf Bay. _'I create myself._ _I take the words. I scatter them ... in time, and space. A message to lead myself here.'_ I should have seen it then and I didn't…"

"Doctor?"

It felt wrong to cut him off, but he was standing there so quietly, so brokenly, so much as if he was completely terrified to hope.

"Doctor?"

Suddenly the beaming smile was back. "Right then! Universe two-six-seven-five-oh-one it is! 'Course, it might be impossible—might not be impossible, though. And it might get me killed, but that's quite all right, too. Where's the fun in absolutely no risk at all?"

"So, we're leaving then? To find Rose?" Jack tried very hard not to hold his breath.

"No." Serious brown eyes focused on him. "This is one ride you can't tag along on, Jack. It's one thing if I get myself killed, quite another if I take you. Besides, even _you _might not survive a rusty and unused Time Vortex. I certainly might not."

"Doctor—"

"No arguments, Jack. I'll take you home, and then I'll go. End of story. Assuming…assuming this works, and assuming she'd like to come, I'll bring Rose by to see you. Either way, I'll visit."

"If you make it back." Something in that unswerving gaze warned Jack not to argue, but it couldn't keep him from whining. Just a little.

"If I make it back," the Doctor confirmed.

"You can't just…"

A shake of the head made him trail off. "I can. I will. I…_have to_, Jack. I just have to."

"You love her." And Jack finally said the words he'd never dared to.

The brown eyes were sad again.

"Always have."


	4. Part Four: Heart

**Red Bicycle**

* * *

Part Four: Heart

* * *

He dropped Jack off and returned to Gallifrey, trying very hard not to open the door to the TARDIS just to take a little peek. Just to…_see _if anything had healed or changed, even though the thought of either was absolutely impossible. He knew better, but the Doctor supposed that he was like a small child in some ways; he wanted to see. Had to hope against hope, even when he knew that doing so was wrong.

Perhaps this was a day for hope, after all, as twenty-two years (plus five months, fourteen days, six hours, fifty-three minutes, and sixteen seconds—and two thirds) of hopes had wildly piled on top of pain to give him a _chance _for the first time. After trying for all of those twenty-two years, five months, fourteen days, six hours, fifty-three minutes, and seventeen seconds to find a way, he had finally found one. Maybe. As he'd told Jack, there was a very good chance of this not working.

But there was also a chance of success, and he'd tried before with less of one.

In the end, inspiration struck and drove him to open the doors and stare out at Gallifrey again. He'd been able to brace himself, but his hearts still lodged in his throat, making breathing almost impossible, and the same pain welled up all over again. He'd done this. He had destroyed everything. The least he could do was look.

But not now. That was for later. Now he had work to do.

He'd not bothered to land on the Cruciform base, not this time. He'd simply let the TARDIS fall into orbit around the planet they'd both been born on, and waited patiently for that orbit to take him near enough to what he was looking for. Once he did, a simple touch of the controls was enough to nudge the TARDIS into the right direction…and a small piece of Gallifrey floated through the open doors.

It wasn't an important piece. Just a rock, really. Wouldn't have meant anything to anyone but him, but it was all the Doctor could do to keep his hands off this small piece of his home, the only piece he'd ever be able to touch again. _I did this._ But logic, knowledge, pushed the pain back. He'd hate himself forever for doing what had to be done, but the reason why _he'd _been the one to do it still remained. Someone had to, and no one else would.

"Enough of that," he snapped at himself, forcing his eyes and his mind to turn away from that small piece of Gallifrey, a rock no bigger than a square foot. But it would be enough. Enough of a link to bring him back again.

If he got there, that was.

Placing his hands flat on the console, he looked at his oldest friend with vision blurred with tears. "What do you say, old girl? Ready for what might be our final adventure?"

_My Doctor._

The words echoed in his mind; when Rose was the TARDIS, the TARDIS was Rose. _I want you safe, my Doctor._

He swallowed hard, driving back the pain enough to concentrate, trying to find words to convince the TARDIS that he _had _to, _needed _to, burned to. There had been an emptiness inside him for too long, and he ached to fill it. He didn't know how long he could go on without doing so.

_I will guide you home._

And that was when he finally knew she understood.

--

He half piloted the TARDIS; she half piloted herself. He gave direction, desire, and she swept them up into a Time Vortex that was slightly more red than blue, just a bit different but so much the same. The ride was bumpier, with a few more hard edges than a Vortex that had been worn by use and more use, battles and more battles, but the Doctor hardly noticed.

All the while, he kept his eyes focused on that small energy signature. Focused on the Bad Wolf.

--

Last of the Time Lords that he was, the Doctor wasn't exactly known for being accurate. Or on time. Or for anything, really, when traveling in the TARDIS was concerned, except for finding trouble.

So he was quite shocked to find that the TARDIS had materialized, very gently, less than twenty-five yards from the front doors of the Tyler Estate. Inside the gates, even.

Twenty-five yards away from _Rose._

He'd peeked out the doors with something approaching terror filling his body—and almost fell over with giddy relief when he saw the imposing mansion, just twenty-five yards away. He contemplated screaming out his success to the world, bellowing, chortling, roaring, singing, _hollering_, but instead turned to kiss the bright blue door of the TARDIS.

"Oh, I love you. My beautiful, wonderful, perfect, sublime machine, I love you!"

It took all the self control he possessed to stop himself from sprinting for the front doors, and even then, only logic stopped him. A mental to-do list, so to speak.

_Don't forget to write that note. Whatever you do, don't forget to write that note. Even if everything else goes wrong._ He didn't want to think about everything going wrong—Rose married, Rose dead, Rose having moved on (even though he'd wanted her to, desperately and painfully wanted her to be happy)—but the problem with being a Time Lord was that it was impossible to escape possibilities. He could see them all. See every possible future, and some not quite so probably but still distantly feasible.

For the first time in twenty-two years (five months, fourteen days, nine hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty-two seconds flat) some of _his _possible futures included Rose.

Breathing was hard, even with a respiratory bypass system.

It took forever—and not nearly long enough—for his long strides to bring him to the door. Expensive doors, really, with big brass knockers that screamed "the Tylers have loads of money!" Nervously, he ran a hand through his hair, and then another, not quite sure what he was trying to accomplish—if he was trying to make it lie down, he should have pushed it the other direction, and if he was trying to make it messier, well, that wasn't very hard, and he'd probably not have had to do anything to it anyway, what with the tossing around the TARDIS had given him earlier. But—

He didn't quite remember knocking, but the doors swung open. A brunette in a maid's uniform stared up at him and he stared back (rather stupidly, in fact, but he was hardly feeling like a genius amongst Time Lords at the moment). He was nervous. Why was he nervous? He'd faced all sorts of monsters without so much as flinching.

"Can I help you, sir?" she asked after a moment.

"Oh, right. Yes. Um, I was looking for—"

"Doctor?" That was a female Tyler voice, but definitely not the one he'd been looking for. But she'd do in a pinch, really. In fact, she'd do quite well. Not so well as Rose, but… "_Doctor?_ Is that really you?"

"Yes! Hello! Jackie Tyler, it's so good to see you." He'd barely gotten the smile in place before Jackie elbowed the maid aside and smacked him.

Right hand first, snapping his head around, and then followed up by a good left-handed wallop.

"Ow," was all he could manage, not sure which side of his face to rub. "Nice greeting, that. Not so nice as: 'Doctor, it's so good to see you, we've missed you!' Or even up there with: 'Oh, Doctor, how did you get to _this _universe when we thought you were stuck in another one?' Even 'Hello, Doctor' would do in a pinch, but—"

He was cut off as Jackie enveloped him in a gigantic hug, all but squeezing every bit of air out of his body.

"That slap was for leaving my Rose all alone _and _hung up on you for the past five years!" Jackie said fiercely, still hugging him tight. "The second one was for: where _have _you been all this time? What with that letter and all we thought you'd be here a lot sooner!"

She pulled back, suddenly, smiling at him. "And it is good to see you, Doctor. Hello."

He couldn't help grinning back. "'Alo yourself, Jackie Tyler. But you'll forgive me if you're not the one I'm really hoping to see—not to say that it's not wonderful to see you and all but—"

Only Jackie's sudden burst of laughter could cut off his suddenly nervous-again rambling.

"What?" the Doctor demanded.

"You," Jackie replied, her eyes shining. "You and her. You're just as bad as she is!"

He barely got the words out around the lump in his throat. "Am I?"

Click.

_…"for leaving my Rose all alone and hung up on you for the past five years!"_

Ooooh. She did say 'hung up' on him. The Doctor wasn't exactly an expert on every bit of slang humans used, but he could figure that one out easily enough. Still, it was always safest to be sure, so he opened his mouth to ask Jackie as she turned to the maid:

"Go get Rose, will you, Myra? Tell her there's someone here she'd like to see."

Both of his hearts almost stopped with that phrase. _"Go get Rose." _The Doctor didn't bother to protest when Jackie grabbed his arm, pulling him inside.

"C'mon, you. There's no need for you to be standing in the doorway like a stranger! Jack and Jason are over at the Sampsons' right now, but Pete should be home any minute and Rose has been home from work for an hour or so—I'm sure she'll be down in a minute, so stop looking around like she's not coming!"

The semi-shout made his head snap around. "Oh. Right. Sorry. I've just—" His face was hot and he knew he was blushing; why did this body have to have such a stupidly fair complexion? "Right."

"Can I get you something, Doctor? A drink? A snack? Tea?"

Poor Jackie. She was trying so hard to be normal, and he was ready to jump out of his skin. With an effort, he managed to shake his head mutely as she led him into a very nice parlor. It very nice, very tasteful, very rich, but he hardly noticed the furniture. Apparently, Jackie was also too keyed up to sit down, because she didn't even bother offering him a chair. Not that he'd have taken it, anyway. Or could have sat still if he had.

Exactly two hundred and nineteen (and four-fifths) seconds passed in awkward silence before he heard the voice he'd once been certain he'd never hear again.

"Doctor?"

It was barely a whisper, coming from the doorway behind him, but he whirled around, whacking his shins on a tea table as he turned.

Words deserted him. He, the Doctor, who could never shut up (especially this time around) simply couldn't speak. Rose was standing in the doorway—_Rose was standing in the doorway!_ Looking confused and lost and just a little bit more than a googolplex percent excited. Her brown eyes were wide and her mouth gaping half open, and she was _beautiful_.

Math and his sense of time also deserted him. Never would he be sure how long they stood there, staring at one another like fools. Like happy fools.

"Hello, Rose."

The Doctor had forgotten that his voice could be so soft.

One of them moved first. He wasn't paying attention as to _who_. All that mattered was that he was moving and she was moving and all of a sudden _Rose _was wrapped up in his arms, and he was swinging her around in sheer joy, barely noticing when Jackie shouted:

"Oi! Mind the lamp, you two!"

And then they were both laughing and it was like old times, with Rose laughing and leaning on him and the two of them barely able to stand up or breathe because they were giggling so hard. Perhaps they sounded more than a little insane, falling about like that—Jackie seemed to think so, judging from the look she was giving them—but that was all right. Everything was all right.

"I can't decide if I should slap you or kiss you!" Rose finally said, laughter still filling her eyes.

He knew she was joking, knew she had to be, but the words came out before what she'd said completely registered. "Your Mum already slapped me."

Her eyes bugged out, just a little, and he began to wonder if he'd stuck his entire leg down his throat. What with the gob this version of him had, he was quite good at that—

Until Rose yanked his head down and snogged him completely senseless. Absolutely senseless. Without sense. Without even _thought _to make sense out of.

And it was quite wonderful, this kiss he'd been thinking about way too often over the past twenty-two years, five months and however else long it had been—he wasn't caring too much about that at the moment because _Rose _was kissing _him_—even if not quite one of the thousand different ways he'd imagined it going. Once he'd stopped _thinking_ and started kissing back, it even worked out pretty well, too. Kissing, after all, was a skill one didn't lose due to lack of practice, and if he was a bit rusty, well, that'd change with time.

Rose pulled back without warning.

"Not all of us have respiratory bypass systems, you know!" she gasped, looking rather flushed.

Jackie'd disappeared, though when she'd done that, he had no idea.

"Sorry," he managed, feeling his ears go red.

"I'm not." And my, didn't Rose look smug! Then her satisfied expression wavered. "I mean—not unless you want me to be, 'cause you kinda…"

"Stop," he cut her off gently. Yes, his voice _could _be that soft! It had been a long time. Then he grinned wildly. "I guess I did 'kinda' invite that one, didn't I? Much better than the slap, that. And _worlds _better than the two slaps your Mum gave me—they were hard! My face is still sore."

There he was, babbling again, but Rose didn't seem to mind.

"I'm sure you deserved that for somethin', yeah?" she smiled up at him, and if he couldn't already feel the Earth moving, he could have sworn she'd swept it out from under him.

"Like what?" he challenged.

"Like not giving me a word of warning as to when you were coming back," Rose shot back, still smiling. "You coulda told me it would take you five years. I might have gotten married and divorced a good dozen times in that long."

His stomach abruptly dropped down to somewhere in the vicinity of the soles of his trainers. "You're not—?"

"Nope." Still holding on to him, Rose pulled her left hand free to wiggle her fingers in front of his face. "See?"

"Oh. Well. Good, I mean. I guess—um, I'm doing this terribly, aren't I?"

"Pretty much."

Out of sensible things to say, he went for the obvious. "Your Mum's gone."

"Guess she must trust you with me, then," Rose replied. Smug again.

"Oooh, bad idea, that." He suddenly felt young. Wicked. Thoroughly naughty. He'd forgotten what this felt like sometime in the last however-many-years it had been. "Trusting me. With you. Heck of an age gap, between you n' me, even though I always tell people that I'm only nine hundred. Your Mum must've gotten daft in her old age, trusting me. Slapping me is much safer." Rose opened her mouth to speak, probably to ask how old he _really _was, but he overrode her. "Trusting me means I might go and do something like this."

This time, he kissed her. Not a proper snogging, that kiss, just a gentle and meaningful brush of lips to tell her that he wasn't crazy, and he _was _real, and this was the Doctor, kissing Rose.

Her eyes didn't open again until he touched her cheek, very lightly, with his right hand. And for once in his life, he didn't really babble. For once his long, convoluted life, he got the right words right at the right time.

"I didn't get the chance to finish what I was saying, so long ago, on that beach. Bad Wolf Bay." For the first time, those words made him smile. "So, if this is my _first _chance to say it, Rose Tyler…I love you."

There were definitely tears in her eyes when she smiled at him. "This would be your second chance, silly."

"Well, I am a bit silly, aren't I? Always have been, as a matter-of-fact, though this me tends a bit more towards silly than any—"

Rose, he discovered, had probably always known how to shut him up, and had probably been waiting a long time to use this foolproof method. She'd kissed him, of course, and out the window went any thoughts of babbling. It wasn't a long kiss—he didn't feel the need to deprive her of her oxygen supply again so soon—but it told him far more than words ever could. He pulled her close and held on for dear life, her head nestled in against his chest and his cheek resting on her hair.

"I waited for you," Rose whispered. "I read the letter, and I knew you'd figure out a way—what's impossible, after all, when you've got the Doctor on your side?" Her laugh sounded a bit like a sob, but she continued before he could open his mouth to comfort her. "Even when everyone told me to stop believing, I didn't.

"I love you, Doctor," she whispered, and his world was right again.

Now time to make her world right.

He pulled back, just a little, just enough to brush the tears off her cheeks with the thumb of his right hand. "Rose Tyler," he breathed without meaning to. "My Rose."

She was beautiful, even with the smudged makeup (though he did notice that she wore less than she once had and looked even better for the change), and she beamed up at him.

"And don't you forget it, Mister."

"Never."

Author's Note: Reviews are lovely--please give me some and keep me going!


	5. Part Five: Time

**Red Bicycle**

* * *

Part Five: Time

* * *

Jackie had to yell at them twice to come into dinner—Pete had come home while the two were locked up in the parlor and dinner was long since ready. Technically, of course, they'd not really been so much locked up as in there with the door wide open; Jackie half wished one of them had closed the door and they'd gotten on to doing something _healthy _about that unrequited love Rose had been carrying around for years. Either way, the she'd called Pete on his way back from Torchwood and had him bring the twins home. For all she knew, the Doctor was going to sweep Rose off her feet and they'd leave again, and this might be the last chance her little brothers had to see her for God-only-knew-how-long.

She should have been angry at him (and was, but not for any of the logical reasons she could think of). After all, she was downright positive that the alien was going to take her daughter away again—but that was all right. It really was.

And it was impossible _not _to notice how they walked in to the dining room together, holding hands tightly, as if they were both afraid that the other would disappear. Rose's mascara was a bit streaked, but she was absolutely glowing, and it was all Jackie could do to not start asking questions right away.

"Well, sit down you two! Dinner's not getting any warmer!" She pointed a finger at the Doctor. "And no going on about how you don't do domestic, you. I know better."

"Me?" His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, no arguments from me, Jackie. This me does domestic fairly well—or, at least better than any of the past versions, at any rate. Domestic. Such a silly word. Why'd I ever use that one, anyway?"

As she rolled her eyes, Jackie didn't fail to notice that the Doctor and Rose were _still _holding hands. They'd find it hard to eat like that, but she didn't need to nag. Rose was a smart girl; she'd figure it out soon enough.

Rose handled introductions, re-introducing the Doctor to her father (who really had become her dad in every way that mattered, a thought that still made Jackie feel feather-light with happiness), and then introducing him to both of her twin (almost) five-year-old brothers, who were still more concerned with messing with the food on their plates than the strange man Rose had brought home. But that was all right. Jackie was disturbingly certain that the Doctor was good with kids—and that brought up a whole 'nother line of thinking that she really didn't want to think of right now.

"So," she asked sometime after the salads had been cleared away and the twins' turkey had been cut. "How'd you get here? And what took you so long?"

"Well…" He paused to glance at Rose, and she beamed at him again (they'd finally had to let go of one another to cut their meat, though they'd both somehow managed to eat their salads while clinging to one another). "Bit of a complicated answer, that. Rather impossible, too, with the doors closed between the universes and all, but suffice it to say that I opened some doors and realigned some planets. Well, realigned entire galaxies and universes, to tell the truth, but they all contain planets—and I do so like planets. Especially this one."

When he grinned at Rose in that idiot way, Jackie absolutely refused to believe he was a genius.

"Wait a minute…you said you realigned planets?_ Galaxies?_" she barely managed to beat Pete to the question, but he was definitely paying attention, now. Her Pete. Such a wonderfully smart and _normal _man. Didn't remind her of the Doctor one bit. Well, maybe a little. Sometimes. Apples and trees and all, her and Rose.

"Yup! And don't forget the universes. That was the rather important part, so that I could get here. And fix some other problems, but only because I'm very, very good at multi-tasking."

"You didn't cause any lasting damage, did you?" Pete asked cautiously. He had to, of course, heading Torchwood as he did.

"Nope, none at all. Rather fixed some old damage, actually."

--

Pete hadn't wanted to sound suspicious, not really. Not with Rose looking so absolutely _delighted_, but he had to ask. It was his job, after all, and Rose was his little girl.

Of course, she wasn't actually his little girl. He hadn't been there to watch her grow up, watch her become this young lady he was astonishingly proud to hear call him "Dad." He'd earned that name, he knew, despite the first few awkward months of fitting _this _Jackie and Rose into his life. But they'd managed, and for five years Rose had been his brilliant little girl, a better daughter than he could have ever dreamed of having.

Yet he'd always known there was a time limit. Had always known that the blissful vacation would end and they'd go back to the real world. Rose had made that plain enough, though in not so many words, that the moment the Doctor came back, she would go with him. _Anywhere, _she said, and Pete only hoped that the Doctor was worth it.

Watching the two of them eased that worry a little, but not completely. Even hearing that the Doctor had moved _universes_ to get back to Rose wasn't quite enough.

"When do you plan to leave?" he asked somewhere around dessert, and watched the Doctor's face suddenly go still.

"Well, err, I hadn't really gotten around to talking to Rose about anything like that yet—figured there'd be plenty of time to ask—"

"He doesn't need to ask me, Dad." Rose looked Pete straight in the eye, and he felt a bit embarrassed, putting the Doctor on the spot like that. But it was the Doctor's expression he was watching, as the alien turned to Rose with surprise.

"I'm coming," she told him quietly before he could speak. Firmly. "If you want me to, that is."

"Rose, I—you—oh, here I go again." He seemed to shake himself. "Yes. More than anything. Everything."

"Well, there ya have it, then. You're stuck with me, yeah?" Pete tried to pretend that he didn't hear the relief in Rose's voice, the sudden banishment of fear and the realization that her dreams _were _coming true, even after so long.

And what kind of father stood in the way of his little girl's only real dream coming true?

"Yeah," the Doctor answered, and Pete recognized the look on his face. After all, it was the same look he wore every time he realized that this wasn't just a figment of his imagination, and he really did have his Jacks back.

--

He kept looking at her like he was afraid she'd disappear, like he'd never let her go, and if Rose could have the Doctor look at her like that for the rest of her life, she'd die happy. Whenever that day came—someday, she'd ask him why she wasn't aging, and if it had anything to do with her vague memories of looking into the Heart of the TARDIS. But that was for another time, and tonight she simply couldn't believe that she was sitting next to him at her parents' dinner table, feeling abnormally _normal_ and equally afraid that she'd wake up and it would all be dream.

But they'd peeked out the window earlier and he'd pointed out where the TARDIS was parked, so if this was a dream, it was a damn detailed dream.

Finally, when he'd thrown her one too many casual glances, Rose stuck her tongue of the corner of her mouth and asked, "See something you like?"

Same old Doctor; his ears went red. Flirting with him openly was _fun_. Especially in front of her parents.

"Oh, I don't think there's a family-dinner-table-safe answer to that question, Rose. Not on this side of the grave, at any rate. You Mum's glaring at me—if she smacks me again, Rose Tyler, I'm blaming you."

She couldn't help giggling. Absolutely couldn't help giggling. Even when he stared at her like he was terribly offended, she couldn't stop giggling. Especially once he started, too.

Her parents were looking at the pair of them like they were idiots, but they giggled until the table was clear.

A few minutes later, he took her out to the TARDIS so that Rose could prove to herself that this was real. She almost collapsed in relief once she realized that her key still turned in the lock.

"She remembers me!" Rose said with no small surprise. After all, it had been five years, and she knew the Doctor well enough to sincerely _hope _that he hadn't been traveling alone all that time.

"She'd never forget you," the Doctor said quietly, following her inside. "You're the only one—even including me—to ever look into her Heart."

Rose bit her lip, turning to half face him, just inside the doors. "I didn't know what it was when I did it."

"I should hope not! If you had known—and there was no way you could have—doing what you did would have been even stupider than it was." But he smiled at her, and Rose felt herself smiling back. She was quite certain that the magic wouldn't last—nothing so completely perfect was ever as brilliant as it seemed—but right now, one look from him could make _anything _all right.

"And you know what?" he asked her, stepping close and taking her hands.

"What?"

"You doing that—looking into the Heart, foolish little optimistic human thing to do that it was—is what led me back to you."

Rose blinked, but the words came out of her mouth automatically. "Bad Wolf?"

He nodded. "Bad Wolf."

"How?"

"Energy signature, more than anything." The Doctor shrugged. "I thought I pulled the Vortex out of you, Rose, and I _did_—but I must have left something behind. Just a little something, not enough to hurt, but enough that when I finally found a door—actually thousands and thousands of doors, doors to every possible universe—it was enough to lead me to you. Because otherwise, I might have spent eternity trying to find the right universe in all that mess."

_He might have spent eternity._

"I'm glad, then," was all Rose managed to say before pressing herself into his arms again. Even the strange-but-familiar double heartbeat felt right, and though she'd dreamed many dreams about him somehow finally finding a way through, she was really beginning to believe that this one was real.

His voice was muffled against her hair. "Me, too."

After far too short of a time, she managed to force herself to pull back. "So, how long d'we have then? A few hours? A few days?"

"What?" For a moment, he looked terrified.

"Before we have to leave."

"Oh. That. Right. Well…"

"I imagine that the doors won't stay open forever," Rose said as stoically as she could, thinking of all the people, of all the things, she was prepared to leave completely behind—a life she'd been preparing to leave for five long years. Her Mum. Her Dad. Her brothers. Mickey. Jake. Torchwood….and everything else. And she _would _leave, happily, but it was hard to pretend that she wouldn't regret it. "So, how long do we have before we have to go?"

"Actually, it's not that simple," he answered. "See the rock?"

Rose blinked. "The what?"

"Turn around, but not too fast—you might trip over it." The grin flashed to life on his face again, and Rose twisted carefully. There _was _a rock, not inches away from her feet. It wasn't big enough to be classified as a boulder, but it was kind of big…for a rock, anyway. Big and redish-blackish, as if some of it had been burned once, a long time ago.

"What's the rock have to do with anything?"

"It's a way back," the Doctor replied, suddenly looking hesitant. "A beacon, so to speak—a way to find our way back here, no matter where we go. Because it's not just a rock. It's a rock from…from Gallifrey. My home." His voice suddenly filled with pain, but he drove on. "The TARDIS will always be able to find it."

"Oh."

_"It burned," _he'd said so long ago. _"Burned before its time."_

Blindly, she reached back for his hand. His fingers closed on hers tightly, and she thought she felt him shake for a moment.

"So," she asked after the emotion had passed a little, knowing that he was clinging to her and unspeakably grateful that she could finally be there for him again. "We have time, then?"

"As much as you need," he whispered. "All the time in the universe."

--

"Oh! The letter!" he gasped out the next day, tinkering with the TARDIS under Rose's amused eyes. They'd buried the rock behind the Tyler house, sometime in the middle of the night—the Doctor preferred that the darkness hide his tears from anyone but Rose, and Rose preferred not to have to explain what a _rock _was all about to her parents. They hadn't spoken of it since, hadn't needed to.

"What 'bout it?" she asked, curled up on the bench seat as if she'd never left. "I still have it—"

His head came out from under the console so fast that he smacked it on a loose grating. "Ow! You do?"

"Course I do. Why wouldn't I? You need to read it, or somethin'?"

"Nope. Time Lord. Perfect memory." The Doctor grinned at her, feeling insanely _alive._ "But I do need to write it. And deliver it, of course. Doesn't do much good to write a letter if you're not going to deliver it now, does it?"

She stared at him, his silly Rose. "You mean you haven't left it for me yet?"

"Of course not! Time's not linear, you know. I _meant _to leave it, so it was there when it needed to be. Red bicycle when you were twelve, remember?"

--

Goodbyes were never easy, even when Rose knew she'd be able to come back. They'd spent four days with the Tylers, tying up loose ends and allowing Rose to say every farewell she could think of, along with quite a few she couldn't. Jackie seemed both shocked and delighted by the knowledge that she wasn't losing Rose forever, and Pete had been just a bit too gruff when he'd pulled the Doctor aside to say 'thank you.' Mickey, too, looked like he was trying not to cry, and the Doctor managed to give him a slightly apologetic smile—because he was sorry, really, so sorry for all of it. But Mickey smiled, too, and just told him to take care of Rose. It was almost too perfect, almost too seamless, but for once in his life, the Doctor wasn't going to argue.

Maybe he'd paid the price for this moment. Maybe he hadn't yet. If necessary, he'd face that moment when it came, because he was going to take Rose up on that forever promise, and stay with her as long as she wanted him to.

She hadn't asked him, not yet, what he'd done to get her back. His flippant answer at the dinner table hadn't satisfied her—even after so long, Rose knew him too well—but she was willing to wait. Probably until they were in the TARDIS and not when her parents could hear. He'd tell her, too, and not flippantly. He'd promised himself that from the moment he'd left…Gallifrey.

The name still burned to even think, as badly as it had twenty-six years ago in the wake of the Time War.

Jackie hugged him, again, and hissed desperately in his ear: "You keep my daughter safe!"

"I will," he told her quietly. "I promise."

The Doctor met Rose's gaze over Jackie's shoulder, and saw her smile slightly. Her Mum didn't _quite _get it, even though she knew more than she once had—Canary Warf had changed Jackie's perception of the universe forever. But Rose understood that being with him wasn't safe…and yet she chose to come with him anyway. Rose knew. Jackie didn't.

The only way to keep her _truly _safe would have been to leave her behind.

And perhaps he was a coward, but he'd never be able to do that again.

--

Their first stop is skipping five years back in time, and Rose shows him which desk at Torchwood is hers. She holds his hand as he places the letter, just so, on her desk.

And it is a good thing he had her along, otherwise he'd never have managed to get into the building. Security in _this _Torchwood is much tighter and won't be fooled by psychic paper (not that the other one ever was, either), but it's easy to get inside as Rose Tyler, plus one.

_Rose—_

_I lied. Someday, there will be a way, and I will find it. We will see each other again._

_Your__ Doctor_

She'll receive the letter when she gets back, just a few hours from them. And Rose tells him that it will give her hope, and that's enough, until there's more.

Author's Note: It's not quite done yet; I've got one chapter to go. I'm contemplating a sequel that follows Rose and the Doctor--is there any interest? As always, thanks for reading, and please do let me know what you think.


	6. Part Six: Future

**Red Bicycle**

* * *

_Part Six: Future _

* * *

"Here we are." Forcing the words past the lump in his throat was almost impossible, but Rose took his hand, squeezed it, and led him to the doors. But she waited, let him open them, seeming to know that he had to.

Had to.

"Is this your home?" she whispered, her hand tight on his.

The Doctor shook his head; it took a long moment for speech to come. "Just a moon. But it's the largest piece left, the base of the Cruciform."

Deep breath.

He led her to the right—this time, the TARDIS had landed facing the stone building—and finally managed to bring his head up. To look at the shattered rocks, the dusty debris, the ashes floating in space that even time would never erase. To look at _home_.

"That's Gallifrey," he found himself saying softly. "What's left, anyway. All that's left."

There was a tug on his hand, and Rose pulled him down to sit with their backs against the TARDIS, her arm around his waist. Slowly, he let his head drop onto her shoulder, still staring out at his destroyed planet, but allowing himself to find comfort in her embrace. After a long moment, the Doctor wrapped his arms around her, and felt Rose pull him even closer.

"Will you tell me what it was like?" she whispered. "Before the war?"

He hated to speak of it. Only had once. Yet, somehow his lips started moving, and then he was talking and couldn't stop, telling her about red grass and orange skies, about two suns and the Panopticon. He spoke of silver leaves on giant trees, of the Academy and the Untempered Schism and even the High Council, their dusty tradition-bound ways and the way he'd always defied them.

He told her about the mountains and his childhood best friend, about how they'd both defied everything and everyone they could, then had taken to the stars and wound up battling their way through eternity as best enemies. And he told her about the startling discovery that he was _not _alone, and that not only had another survived it was that very same best friend…who he'd held in his arms as the other died, leaving him alone, alone in a very real and empty sense.

Every memory was wrapped up in others; he finally told her about Susan, about stealing the TARDIS, about running away and running and running and running. Always running, because he craved _more _than the quiet life that his people claimed to be suited for. He told her things that he'd never dreamed of telling anyone else, ever, weeping in the shadow of his destroyed world and finally pouring his heart out.

When he thought he had no more tears to weep, Rose wiped them away gently.

"Will you tell me what happened here? How Gallifrey burned?"

Had it been anyone else, he might have shut down. Locked them out. Shoved away and simply _went on_ with his life. But not Rose. Never, ever Rose.

"I did it," he said simply. Heavily. Closed his eyes against more tears, then just gave in and let himself sob.

Several long minutes passed before he could even think of continuing.

"We'd lost the war. Oh, there was a chance—even if it was a tiny one—but if that attack, the attack on Skaro, failed, we knew that there'd be nothing else. We were trying so desperately to pull them away from here so we could take the Cruciform back…but the Daleks didn't fall for it. Not for any of it.

"We knew the solution. I…I helped come up with it. Probably my idea, in the end. And when the High Council had asked for volunteers, no one would. None of us could ever consider not just destroying Gallifrey but destroying _ourselves…_" The breath he sucked in was more a shudder than anything else; somehow, he managed to keep talking. "So I volunteered. When they asked me. Begged me. And I swore that I would see it through."

The Doctor closed his eyes again, turning his face into Rose's shoulder and unable to look at the world he'd destroyed. _The Oncoming Storm.__ The Bringer of Darkness. The Destroyer of Worlds._ He didn't want to remember Romana's pale face, didn't want to remember his own desperate explanation of the options lying before them—

"So I did. When our attack on Skaro failed, I ran. Not from the battle, but for my TARDIS…and I went to the Schism—not our Untempered Schism, but the one they'd made, and linked to ours unintentionally.

"And I destroyed us all. Daleks, Time Lords, Skaro, and Gallifrey. Everything."

Rose didn't say a word, just held him tighter, rubbing his back and kissing his hair. Just _being _there, the first person he'd ever told it all to. The first person he'd ever even _contemplated _baring his soul to.

All in all, he wasn't even quite sure what had made him start talking. Just that now he couldn't stop.

"I thought I'd die. I was _sure _I'd die, and I hadn't even imagined living. And then I was quite sure that I wouldn't ever really liveagain…and then I met you."

"Me?" her voice is tiny, somehow, she who saved him in more ways than he can count.

He pulled back, managing to look at her, somehow, without weeping over the sight that is Gallifrey, just past her left shoulder. "Yeah," he said with a small smile. "You."

"Oh."

The Doctor hugged her tight, then, wanting to kiss her but feeling that this wasn't the place. He wasn't looking for absolution, after all. Just a little peace.

"Rose Tyler. My own little slice of hope for the future."

"Forever," she said softly, and he is able to believe her.

Later, they'll talk about why she hasn't aged, and what that might mean. In the shadow of a burned-out planet, he's not quite ready for hope, even if he has figured out how to face the future. For the moment, it's enough to pull Rose to her feet and look out at Gallifrey one last time, his tears finally dry.

"I promised Jack a visit," he says, holding his right hand out to her and wiggling his fingers, just so. "Game?"

She beams up at him, and there _is _light in his world. "Always."

--

* * *

**Author's Note:**** That's it for this one, but I'm contemplating writing a sequel titled "A Little Peace." I've got a bit of a bunny for it, so please let me know if you think that I ought to…or if this story stands well on it's own.**

**Aside from that, stay tuned for my next two _Doctor Who _stories: "The Oncoming Storm" (the first story in a Time War trilogy—including the events referenced here in RB) and "Full Circle" (in which the Duplicate 10th Doctor turns out to be the Valeyard, and the Doctor must decide if he _should _save Rose or not). I'm new to the DW fandom, so please do let me know what you think!**


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